Puppet Perfect
by Zabu Zabu Shin Sen Gumi
Summary: Berwald Oxenstierna came to be the Swedish village's outcast. As a doll maker, he spends his time alone; his work is his life. Berwald is a very solitary man and hardly talks. When a strange mannequin comes along, will his life ever be the same?


Pairing is: Sweden x Finland

Rated: Mature..?

Why: Because I'm a GESCHLETSVERKEHR writer and not anything else?

Hallo, Luete! I'm very new to this pairing, so I do imagine that I might make some characteristic mistakes during this story. If so, let's just say it's part of the plan, eh?

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia... Sadly... Because then Tino and Arthur would be Sealand's mother and father. Sorry...

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><p><em>I can make them perfect…<em>

Berwald Oxenstierna hacked away at a piece of wood; his sculpted arms were at work. It gave him freedom to think as he pleased without the chatter of others around him. He drew out a carving tool from his belt and began to shape the block of lumber into a round sphere. This was a time where no human in their right mind would come to Oxenstierna and bother to ask him a question; let alone to even talk to him at all.

Berwald was a silent, serious type. When he talked, he seemed to mumble and grunt; a bit of his Swedish accent was present in every word he spoke. His blond flaxen hair was pale, giving his sea-blue eyes attention; attraction to his stern, long face he wore every hour of the day.

His hands felt the smooth feel of the wood he had just shaped. Looking up at him was a face; a wooden, unpainted face of a young female. Berwald smiled; had he really just done that? He had used a perfectly good piece of block to make a head! But that was OK. He would polish it up and sell it at the market down the street on Wednesday. What a waste.

"'K, m' w'fe," he whispered to the lifeless skull, "T'me t' sh'w you 'ff,"

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><p>Setting the stew pot up, the Swede sighed. He guessed it was time for some more potatoes… maybe some pickled herring to go along with it? He didn't know. Time seemed to move slowly as Berwald pondered about supper. He was sick of spuds and fish every day.<p>

Opening the storage room, the blonde noticed that there was puppet pieces shoved into the corners of it. Had he done such a thing? He couldn't remember the last time he carved life size puppet pieces. Perhaps it was his late father's handicraft. He decided to pick them up and bring them to the living room.

He laid them out on the sofa, admiring the work done on it. It was a real masterpiece; the joints had been fixed in place with screws and bolts. The wood was painted a very light peach skin tone with a thin layer of dust. Sighing, he pulled a rag out from under one of the cushions (Heaven knows where he kept all of his things) and began to clean the parts.

_ How beautiful,_ he thought. _It's such an artwork piece; it should belong in a museum._

Then, Berwald noticed that he could pop the arm into the shoulder with ease. This was spectacular! He made a whole mannequin out of the scraps he had found. Who had made these arms, legs, torso…? The Swede noticed that the set was missing a head. It was a peculiar thing to be missing; how would anyone forget to make the face when the body was already done? He didn't know, but he didn't care either.

"Int'r'st'ng," He mumbled to himself. The blonde stood up and grabbed the head he had made his way to the little art studio down the hallway. Dinner could wait…

Berwald sat down in front of his worn-out desk. Paint adorned the table; its mahogany color shrouded by the many plush pinks, reds, oranges, violets, and lavenders. Blues and cool shades interfered with the sunset splatters; the blonde thought of it like the ocean. The surface was scratched from the many uses and an occasional slip of the carving knife, sometimes resulting in pearls of ruby red blood dropping onto the desk as well. Ah, this was the life of a doll maker. It was solitary; lonely at times, but solitary nonetheless. Berwald loved it.

You see, Berwald was a firm, tall man who was once a boy at a time. Every child he knew was smaller, more equal than he was. Parents would shield their offspring's eyes from the Swede and simply walk the other way. In a sense, Berwald Oxenstierna was a monster. Perhaps it was because of his father, who had divorced when Berwald was still small. Everyone looked down upon the father and son; everyone except for a small boy who put the daily milk onto people's porches every single morning.

He was a blond, kind-hearted boy. He loved to spend time with others; he had many friends in the town they lived in. Once you got him to talk, he wouldn't stop until it was time for him to leave your house. Berwald admired him with all of his heart. He was a petite little kid who was strong-headed but gentle. He would state his opinion without covering up; he would smile without a doubt that people would be attracted to his gleam like moths to a lamp. Oh, yes, he was perfect. Berwald could still feel a tinge of jealousy.

A few years after the boy had been delivering goods, he was reported to have crashed on his bicycle. Berwald rushed to see him right away in the town clinic. Two hours later, the boy had passed away. There was no way to save him. Berwald didn't get a chance to say goodbye, or even get to know his name. The nurses told him that his "friend" had died from excessive blood loss, and that there was too big of damage done to repair him. The Swede had cried every night for a year. Whether he mourned physically or emotionally, Berwald became distant.

Berwald smoothed out the sharp edges of the wooden head, frowning slightly over his work; his brows were knit together in concentration. No matter how hard he tried not to make the shape of the face like his dead friend's, he failed. The blonde missed the boy's company, although it had been many years since that incident.

"Oh," he muttered, realizing that tears streaked his face. Translucent pearls crawled down his face and landed onto the open eyes of the mannequin's. "'m s'rry," He swiped a tissue from a box on the desk and dried his (and the mannequin's) tears.

Berwald took his brush and paints; creating the "skin" with care. He made the eyes light lavender; the edges were a darker purple with a slight blue hue. He added blond-brown eyelashes and painted those soft-looking lips with a pink-red hue to them. With his mind, Berwald could make i_everything/i_ the way he wanted it to! He added a tint of rosy blush to the face, chuckling to himself when he remembered when his friend would turn strawberry-red when he was embarrassed.

He went back to the living room, making measurements of the neck and ball joint before heading to his studio again. From there, he took a pencil and his compass before drawing a circle at the bottom of the mannequin's head. He was going to make sure this doll was going to be stupendous.

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><p>Berwald awoke with a start, blue-green eyes flying open. Today was Flea Market day; the Swede would be able to take his collection of woodcraft and canvases down town to make his extra money. His hands were always at work, it seemed to people who passed by his shop, his house, his canopy that he would always put up at the exchange place.<p>

As it had been last night, the blonde had assembled a full mannequin; it was complete with wig and all. Now, Berwald's stomach began to growl with hunger. Remembering that he had not eaten anything since yesterday afternoon, the Swede lifted himself off of the bed and trudged his way to the small kitchen of the house. He was not in the mood to make breakfast, but he didn't want to starve either. Berwald decided to pick out a sealed MRE package from one of the cabinets; he opened it up, poured some water into the package, and shook it around to activate the heat packet inside. While he was waiting for the food to rehydrate and "cook", decided to take a quick peek at his latest wood piece.

Trying not to stomp, as his legs felt like they were made of lead, Oxenstierna found the mannequin missing in the living room. He scowled; had another stupid burglar come into his house and steal his artwork again? He hoped not, because it would be a waste of time he spent on something so precious. Perhaps, he was so tired last night that he had put the mannequin somewhere else in his house. He smirked; it could have been propped up against a corner of a wall for all he knew!

"Wh'red you g'?" he called out to the mannequin in his groggy, morning voice. It was not unlike him to be talking to his works of art. He lived alone; Berwald had to cope with loneliness by getting his voice out of his throat and into the sweet air that carried the dawn-to-dusk sun.

He searched everywhere in the house; underneath the tables, in the closets, even the storage room that he had originally found the mannequin pieces in the first place. It was odd that he couldn't find it. An inanimate object couldn't move on its own, right?

Suddenly, Berwald heard a loud crash coming from his room. He ran; was the burglar back already? The Swede skidded to a halt when he found the intruder he was looking for..? His mouth opened into a little 'o' as he stared straight at a nude young man going through his wardrobe. The boy was definitely seemed like a foreigner; he didn't look like anyone who lived in the town.

Berwald studied the fellow's face; his lips were full and pink, and he couldn't help but think of blossoming roses. His cheeks were dusted lightly with a fine strawberry pink blush while he rummaged and tossed clothes this way and that. His eyes were a mix of light blue and violet shards surrounding a black-as-night middle; Oxenstierna never thought he'd seen something so beautiful and delicate as that. A red wash stained Berwald's cheeks as his own blue eyes trailed down the beau's slender body. His gaze was getting lower and lower… and low—

"Uh…" he stuttered. "'hm… Wh'…" Berwald tried to look at the floor.

The boy shrieked, jumping back and falling onto Berwald's huge bed. The blue sheets made him look like a porcelain doll; flawless and perfect. Berwald's eyes kept stealing glances at the fellow, unable to admire the creamy colored skin. He didn't know what to do now.

_ He's… so…_ Berwald's eyes went wide. _He's…_

"Berwald?" the boy spoke, striding over to the larger man in his full nakedness. "Berwald..?"

The intruder touched his hand.

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><p>Hej, hej, Norge~!<p>

Sorry for all the delay and such.. Recently, 's been having some troubles and it seems that all the websites I DO go onto are down too! How much bad luck can I get? D-8

On the bright side, I have finally written my first multi-chapter SuFin story! It's been a while since I've updated on , and I do apologize for that. It's been kind of busy for me because of schooling, moving to a different region, new members of family, etc. All I have to say is... It's complicated.

I hope that my English is correct. I have recently just graduated another level of English in my studies, so I hope to have better knowledge of English (and American English too)! I think, soon enough, I will be able to write back to others without using a German to English translator! Jeeej~!

Hejdå!

Näkemiin!

Auf Wiedersehen! (Whoo, that's my language! I'm so proud of you, Germany!)


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